Other Truths
by Jael73
Summary: Five years after leaving Lady Edith Crawley at the altar, Sir Anthony Strallan is viciously attacked in London. Recovery is slow, but he's certain of only a few things: he's been married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and their daughter's name is Marigold.
1. Chapter 1

Five years ago, Sir Anthony Strallan had been on the cusp of happiness: engaged to a beautiful young woman, the daughter of an Earl, who for some reason he had never been able to fathom saw beyond his useless arm and considerable age difference from her, and loved him.

He had loved her so much it hurt to think about. And because he had loved her so, he had left her at the altar, unable to tie her to what he saw as a life of drudgery. God, he couldn't even have made love to her normally, he sneered at himself, as he looked at his pathetic arm.

And yet, he was certain, it was the biggest mistake of his life.

And hers. He read Lady Edith Crawley's column in The Sketch regularly, as well as the gossip column in The Times, desperate for any news of her. She was occasionally linked to The Sketch's editor, though the paper was always careful to not link them romantically outright. Writing about an Earl's daughter was still considered risky business.

And then The Sketch had announced that Lady Edith was the new owner, with no mention of Michael Gregson, and that she would be taking a hiatus from her column for several months. Sir Anthony had made some discrete inquires through the Intelligence branch of the Service (just about the only group that would have anything to do with him, after jilting the Earl of Grantham's daughter), and had found out that she had gone to Switzerland with her aunt.

Sir Anthony was no fool, even if he had let his shell shock and anxiety over his wound get the better of him. With Michael Gregson missing (also discovered through Intelligence, he had actually been the one to prioritize the search for him in Germany), and Edith abroad for several months, it was clear what had happened. Gregson must have gotten her pregnant before he left, and then went and got himself murdered by the thugs of the new Nazi party forming in Germany.

Anthony's heart hurt for Edith, and the child. He blamed himself directly for leaving her alone and so hurt, she had obviously accepted whatever comfort Gregson had been willing to give her. Gregson was a cad for doing such a thing, but he could not fault Edith.

She clearly had not been able to give up the child, as his butler at Locksleigh had kept him informed of the situation at Downton, with Lady Sybil's death, Matthew Crawley's unfortunate accident, and the Crawley family's new ward, Marigold, with whom Lady Edith was particularly fond of.

Anthony did was he could for her, using his position in the Intelligence Service to keep the situation out of the newspapers.

And he had done more, re-writing his will, acknowledging Marigold Drewe (as she was known) as his biological daughter and heir to his estate, that Lady Edith Crawley would have lifetime rights to Locksleigh. He wished he could just announce it now, but he was certain Edith would never accept it while he still lived.

Every day, Sir Anthony walked from Strallan House in London to his Club. He had no cook, having dismissed most of the servants after that horrible day, and only had a part-time maid, a new concept in post-war London.

By the time he returned in the evening, it was always dark. Anthony took no pleasure in life now, other than in whatever help he could render to Edith and Marigold. He regularly paid a boy to buy up all the remaining editions of The Sketch when her article came out, so that it looked like it had sold out in only a few days. He was nearly fanatical about the business of his estate, making sure that his assets grew. Marigold would want for nothing when she inherited.

How much better everything would have been if he had just married her! he thought to himself as he walked. Damn old fool.

He spent the remainder of his time thinking about how things could have been. Edith at his side, Marigold as their first child. His money could have been used for trips around Europe, America, even Australia. The only chance he had to smile nowadays was at these "memories", of how happy he could have made his Didi, how happy he could have been. Would getting old before her really have been so bad, when he could have given her all of this?

He was so busy thinking of these made-up memories, he completely missed the three men that had snuck up behind him on the dark street. One of them came up close. When he heard the scraping of a boot, he whirled around only in time to see a mace coming up at his jaw.

Anthony fell to the ground instantly, cracking his forehead on the sidewalk. With a broken jaw, bleeding nose and a fractured skull, the thugs thought he'd be easy pickings. But as they rifled through his coat, they only found the keys to his house and a recent picture of Edith and Marigold, taken by a private detective.

This incensed the men, who thought they were going to get a few nice nights at the pub from the "rich old bloke," not realizing that "rich old blokes" have no need to carry cash on them. They took out their frustration on his body, kicking and punching him viciously. A bobby started blowing his whistle at them as he came around the corner, and they scattered.

The only thought Sir Anthony had, regaining consciousness briefly as he was hoisted into an ambulance, was simply _Edith, Marigold!_ over and over again until blackness claimed him.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

"May I help you?" Edith Crawley asked the gentleman, who had identified himself as Mr. Stevens, a solicitor, when he had exited his taxi to Downton Abby. Carson had shown him into the drawing room, and gone to request Lady Edith's presence.

"Lady Edith, I am afraid I bring very alarming news. About Sir Anthony Strallan."

Edith gasped. She hadn't heard that name in five years. No one would dare even mention him in front of her.

"Edith, what's going on?" Her father, Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, asked as he walked into the drawing room and saw her put her hand over her mouth in shock.

"My Lord, I apologize. I have some very unpleasant news for Lady Edith regarding Sir Anthony," Stevens began again. "But it is of an extraordinarily sensitive nature. I will need Lady Edith's permission before continuing," he looked at them both awkwardly.

"There is nothing you can't say in front of my father," Edith said boldly. She had already told him about Marigold, what else could there possibly be worse than that?

Stevens sighed. "Very well," he said gravely. "Sir Anthony was viciously attacked six days ago while walking in London. His wounds are serious, and he only regained consciousness late last night."

Tears came to Edith's eyes as she sat down. Her father came around to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. His middle daughter had been through so much, this wasn't fair.

"We are very sorry to hear this news," Robert began. "But to be honest, how does that concern Edith? I assume you are aware of their history," he looked hard at the solicitor.

Stevens cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "Yes, I am. However, because Sir Anthony had no known living kin, his sister having died during the Spanish Flu outbreak, and his condition required someone to speak for him, it was necessary to open his will to determine if there was anyone named as a responsible party."

He turned and looked directly at Edith. "Lady Edith Crawley, Sir Anthony's will acknowledges your daughter, one Marigold Drewe, as his own biological child, his heir, and names you the guardian of Locksleigh."

Robert yelled, "WHAT!?" and Edith stood up quickly, shocked, her mouth open, but no words would come out. She looked over at her father, eyes round.

"There's more, I'm afraid," Stevens continued, taking a breath. "When Sir Anthony awoke this morning, it became clear to those speaking with him that he believes…."

"What man, spit it out!" Robert nearly screamed at him.

"That he and Lady Edith are currently married."

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

"I am sorry to say it, Edith, but this could solve many things," her mother, Cora, said, having been called into the discussion.

"Mama, you can't mean that! He left me!" Edith nearly sobbed, holding her face in her hands. Stevens had left, eager to make the last train to London, after Edith and her father had agreed to come to the hospital by tomorrow's train.

How could he do this to her? Edith groaned inwardly. He had already ruined her life once, she didn't need him now!

"Edith, you must think clearly about this. Have you thought about finding a husband who will accept Marigold?"

Edith tried to stifle her sobs. "Yes, I have. And I don't care. I'll be a spinster forever if I must."

"But what about Marigold? Have you any idea how hard it will be for her, with no acknowledged family? If Sir Anthony is willing to do this, it can be said he was ill from the war, and left you stranded with child."

"But he thinks we're married now!" Edith cried, hurt and confused. "He'll expect…" she trailed off, looking down.

Cora looked over at Robert. "Give us a moment," she said softly. Lord Grantham agreed gladly, certain he did not what to hear where this was going.

Cora held her child in her arms. "My dear, you wouldn't be this upset if you didn't still love him."

Edith looked up at her, her eyes wet with grief. "I never stopped, Mama. He's the one that didn't love me."

"I very much doubt that," Cora said slowly. "Your father and Granny were so dead-set against him, I truly think it simply became too much for him to bear."

"Why did you never say this before?" Edith asked incredulously. She had known her father had originally been against the match, but she had thought he had given his blessing in the end. Though she did know how her grandmother's acidic tongue felt when directed her way. Anthony had not years of putting up with such comments.

"Because I did not think it would do anyone any good. He had made his choice. And I would never ask you to beg," Cora said, her lips tight in remembrance of how much her daughter had been hurt. "But times are different now. He can give you a home, position, and legitimacy for Marigold. Is that not something to think about?"

Edith tried to calm herself, drying her tears with the handkerchief Carson had brought her, and think about what her mother had said. "Yes, it is, and you're right. I just…" she looked down at her hands in her lap and whispered, "He won't want me when he gets better, Mama. When he remembers, and knows Marigold's not his. He won't want a sl-"

"Don't say it!" Cora nearly hissed. "You would have never been so vulnerable if he hadn't…. done what he did. This is directly his fault, not yours." Cora took a deep breath. "You can help each other, perhaps. It does sound like Sir Anthony has regretted his decision to leave. He acknowledged Marigold, and his mind has made up a story…."

"What if he never remembers? How can I live with a man that doesn't remember… _that?"_

"I don't know," Cora sighed. She looked at her daughter. "But you will figure it out."

The next day found Edith and both of her parents on the train to London. They said little to each other for hours. There was nothing to be said. Edith felt like her heart was weeping blood.

She didn't know what she would say to Anthony once they reached the hospital. Should she play the part of the wife, for now? But she knew her mother was right. With an acknowledged father, society would forgive the circumstances of Marigold's birth. She set her mouth firmly. There was nothing she wouldn't do for Marigold.

The doctor caring for Anthony came to escort them to a waiting area. "Thank you for coming so quickly. His mind is very sensitive right now."

"What do you want us to do?" Lord Grantham asked a bit skeptically. "I'm not sure allowing him to believe he and Lady Edith are wed…."

"No. It is important not to lie to him," the doctor warned, "but we also do not want to cause more trauma than the mind can handle." He looked at Lady Edith. "Would it be possible to talk to him, but not mention either being married or not? Just tell him that he needs to rest."

Edith nodded. "I can do that, I think," she said. The doctor nodded in approval, and led her to Anthony's room. Her parents waited behind, knowing their presence would only be more confusing. For once, they were being supportive, though Edith thought, rather cynically, that they support was more about legitimizing their granddaughter than any concern for her feelings.

The doctor held the door for her to Anthony's private room. Edith gasped at what she saw. It was clear Anthony had been beaten within inches of his life, with split lips, bruises at his eyes, and a broken jaw and arm just the most obvious injuries.

Anthony's bright blue eyes opened at her gasp. "Edith?" he whispered.

"I'm here," she said softly, coming to his side. The doctor brought her a chair so she could sit at the side of the bed. She couldn't bring herself to say his name, though. She hadn't spoken it in five years, though she had dreamed it most nights since that horrible day.

Anthony tried to raise his arm as he turned his head to look at her. "Stop, you need to rest," she said. "You'll be fine, they say, but you have to rest." She looked at the doctor, who nodded his approval at her words.

"Marigold?" he asked, clearly in pain. "Don't tell her….much. Don't scare…."

"I won't, I promise," she said, trying to keep the tears from her voice. How did he find out? When they had managed to keep the truth of Marigold's birth within the family, how did he know?

He reached for her hand with his, though his was in a cast, most of his fingers broken. She patted it gently, which was clearly the right thing to do, as he closed his eyes again and sighed, slipping back into sleep. Edith looked at her hand gently holding his. It was so easy to pretend she was married to him.

 _EAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEAEA_

Anthony woke up with a start. His dream had been a horrible one. He had been lost in a fog, unable to find Edith or Marigold. It had seemed to last forever.

He looked around a bit frantically, only to sigh with relief at the sight of Edith asleep in a chair against the wall. Of course she was here.

He tried to shift his weight a little, which forced a grunt of pain from him. He hadn't realized the extent of his injuries.

The grunt woke Edith from her doze. Mama and Papa had gone over to Aunt Rosamund's – it wasn't feasible to open Grantham House. They had discussed the possibility of opening Strallan House to allow Anthony to recover, but that would require Edith to also stay to continue the illusion, and her father wasn't quite willing to go that far. Yet. Cora had given Edith a look that said, "Let me handle it." Edith was happy to oblige. She wasn't exactly certain of what she wanted to do about the situation, anyway.

"Didi?" Anthony called to her. Edith pulled her chair back up to the bed, trying not to look surprised. No one has called her Didi since she was a small child.

He looked at her through swollen eyes, and smiled, even if it hurt. He couldn't help it. She was the light of his life. "What happened?"

"You were attacked on the street," she said, not wanting to give any details. His eyes. She had missed those eyes. She couldn't lie to him when he looked at her so lovingly.

She had had some time to think about the past, what had happened. She was certain, now, that the war had hurt him emotionally as well as physically.

"In Ripon?" he said incredulously, unbelieving.

"No, in London," she said carefully, knowing the question that would come next. It wasn't the season to be in London.

"London? Why was I in London?" he looked around. "Are we still in London? This isn't the Ripon hospital."

"You still have a concussion," she said, taking his hand. "The doctor says you mustn't get agitated, it will only make the swelling in your head worse." She was worried. She didn't know what to say, and it showed on her face.

"Edith?" he looked at her, puzzled and worried. "What aren't you telling me?"

A lump caught in her throat. She still loved him. He was so very easy to love. Tears fell from her eyes. Anthony gasp at the sight.

"Didi, what is it?" he asked, a bit frantic. He could never stand to see his sweet one cry.

The doctor opened the door. Edith heaved a great sigh of relief. "He's asking what happened."

"Sir Anthony, we need to proceed carefully," the doctor looked from him, to Edith, and back again. "Your skull was actually fractured. Only a hairline, but this can impair memory, and there could be long term affects if the swelling gets much worse. What do you last remember?"

Anthony looked back at Edith, trying to figure out what was wrong. But then he focused on the doctor's question. "Dinner. I remember eating dinner. At the house…." Here Anthony frowned, trying to remember. "But I don't remember even traveling to London, much less what I was doing here."

"It is better for the brain tissue for you to not become agitated or try to force yourself to remember, until you recover," the doctor continued. "But there has been some significant trauma, as well as memory loss."

"Memory loss?" Anthony asked.

The doctor looked at Edith. "Perhaps Lady Edith can explain."

Edith wet her lips. "Anthony, what do you remember about me?"

Anthony gave her a puzzled look. "About you, sweet one? What do you mean? We've been married for five years. Our daughter's name is Marigold, your favorite color is light green, you like your tea sweet but your coffee black - I'm not sure what you're asking?"

The tears that she had held back split from her eyes. He knew her so much better than anyone else, and yet they had truly only spoken to each other rather little. Besides the fiction he had woven for himself, he knew her.

"Didi, please tell me what's wrong," he pleaded, grabbing her left hand. She saw it on his face, the moment he realized –

"Edith, where's your ring?" he asked in that flat, monotone voice that Edith remembered he always used when he was controlling his emotions. In the past, she had wished him to lose control, just once. Now, she was certain she did not.

"Why isn't my wife wearing her wedding ring?" Anthony's voice dipped low, almost as if he was growling. He felt desperate, as if he had to save his future from those that would take his happiness from him.

The doctor called for a nurse to bring a sedative, as Anthony started to try to sit up. "Edith, what is this, why –"

"Anthony, please calm down," she said through her tears.

"No, I will not calm down!" he nearly shouted at her. Edith flinched, she had never heard him raise his voice before. "Where is Marigold? Why would you not wear your ring?"

The nurse slid up beside him, as he was distracted with questioning Edith, and injected him with…. something. His eyes grew heavy.

"Why would you pretend to not be married to me?" he asked, as he slid into a drugged sleep. Edith put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Several hours went by before the drug wore off, and Anthony stirred from sleep. He blinked, and looked around again. _This hospital gives one the most frightful dreams_ , he thought to himself, and he focused on the woman sitting in the chair beside his bed.

Lady Grantham.

He tried to sit up immediately, but groaned in pain, and gave up. "I apologize, Cora, I didn't realize you were here."

Cora Crawley's lips tightened in disapproval over the use of her name, but quickly recovered, realizing that that's exactly what she would expect him to call her, if he was truly married to her daughter.

"Sir Anthony, I'm here on my daughter's behalf," she said. That simple sentence told him everything.

"It's true, then?" he nearly whispered. "Somehow, even though I can't imagine it, Edith is not my wife?"

Cora said nothing, but gave him time to process. "And Marigold? Have I made up my daughter, too?"

Cora looked around, and then back to Anthony. "Marigold is my granddaughter. But she is not your daughter. Though you've acknowledged her as such," she said simply, wanting to get to the heart of the matter.

"I don't understand," he said.

"You left Edith at the altar," Cora said plainly. It had been the doctor's suggestion to have Lady Grantham break this news to Anthony, hoping that the information would have less emotional impact that if delivered by Edith.

Anthony's eyes widened with shock. "I couldn't have! I would never hurt Edith like that!"

"But you did," she said again, brooking no argument. "You were clearly ill from shell shock, but you did hurt her. You hurt her so much she… found comfort in another man's arms."

Anthony's mouth fell open. "Good God," he swore. He leaned back. He couldn't fathom it, but implicitly trusted that Lady Grantham wouldn't be party to some odd scene to deceive him.

"The doctor says you will probably need months of recovery time. Your will had to be opened. You've claimed Marigold as your own child. I want Edith to be happy. I want my granddaughter to have a good life, a respectable life."

She took a breath. "We can put out the story that your war injuries forced you to abandon Edith and Marigold. People will forgive Marigold's birth with that, I think. Edith can stay with you here in London, as soon as you've been legally married. Marigold can stay at Downtown as Edith's publicly acknowledged daughter."

Cora looked away. "We've told people up to now that Marigold is a tenant's daughter that couldn't afford her. Honestly, I think people will find this story more believable."

Anthony was silent for some time. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to fight back the tears. "And I created this life of mine and Edith's, of Marigold… in my head after I was attacked?"

Cora nodded. "I do think you've regretted your actions, Anthony," she said not unkindly. "Robert and my mother-in-law were rather too harsh on you."

"What kind of man must I have been, to leave someone I love so cruelly?"

"A very troubled one," Cora said, standing. "But you have the chance to make it right."

"Of course, I'll do as you've suggested. But please tell Edith…" he took a deep breath. "If I am truly this man… she has no obligation to me. I will give her all that I have. But I expect nothing in return."

He felt more than a bit strange, giving the Countess of Grantham a look to suggest things that one barley spoke of in private. But if this was all true- and there was something in the back of his mind that told him it was- he needed Edith to know immediately that he would not expect her to… well….

"That will be up to Edith," Cora said a bit sharply. Anthony nodded. Clearly their conversation was over. Cora left.

And Anthony cried.


	2. Chapter 2

"He's agreed," Cora announced as soon as she was seated in Rosamund's sitting room with a cup of tea. "This should be done right away, I think."

"I agree, if it is to be done at all," Robert replied. He looked at his middle child carefully. He was realizing uncomfortable truths about himself. "I can arrange for a registry wedding, but then I would like to open Grantham House for you to have a reception. Would that be alright?"

Edith looked at her father for a moment, and set down her cup. "Mama, Aunt Rosamund, would it be too much to ask to have a moment alone with Papa?"

Cora and Rosamund looked at each other, and Cora nodded. "We'll be in the drawing room when you're finished," Rosamund said. They left.

Edith and her father were alone. Edith could scarcely remember a time when they had been alone together.

"I-" she began, and stopped, confused. "There were so many things I've wanted to say to you, but now they don't seem very important."

Robert just looked at her, with more concern on his face than Edith had ever seen him give her.

"I know you've never really approved of me," she started again, raising her hand as Robert opened his mouth to protest. "Please, let me finish. I know I'm superfluous, neither a son nor a first daughter, or even lovely and interesting like Sybil was. I know I've brought more than my fair share of scandal to this family, though I really didn't mean to."

"I know that," Robert said. "I know we, no, I, haven't paid you enough attention. Your grandpapa was so traditional, I honestly didn't know how to give you any attention he would have found proper. Paying attention to Mary, that was accepted because she was my first-born. And Sybil, she always just seemed to be able to create attention, though usually in a good way. You –"

Robert paused. "To be honest, I think we are much alike, my dear. Naturally, neither one of us are outgoing, we both have habits and hobbies that bore most people," here he smiled at his daughter to soften that statement, "and if we lived in a different time, I should think we'd be rather good friends." That was a bit more emotion than he was used to expressing, but it was the truth.

Edith's eyes filled with the emotion she felt from her father. "I was also too hard on Strallen, back then," he admitted, shame on his face. "I thought you could do better, but I should have supported him more. In hindsight, I can see what I said to him only made it worse, though I thought I was giving my blessing.

And I was doing the exactly same thing again to Gregson. I'm not sure why," he paused, clearly thinking about his actions and feelings, "though I would guess I was trying to keep you at home, with us, without realizing it." He looked down, and then back up at the daughter he had wronged. "Can you forgive me?"

"Can you forgive me?" Edith asked back.

"I think we should forgive each other, and move on. Your Grandmama Levinson told me once that we either had to adapt, or perish. I think I understand her better, now."

They both went to the drawing room, where Cora and Rosamund were waiting.

The next morning, Edith left for the hospital. Robert had contacted a registry officiant, who was willing to come to the hospital to marry them, as Anthony would not be mobile for at least another week.

He was also going to contact the London Times, and arrange for the story to be published in the best possible light. A story about a war hero, suffering from shell-shock, attacked on the London street, and a "happy ending"? No enterprising journalist would pass that up.

Edith, however, was even more uneasy, now. Anthony knew Marigold wasn't his. They would have to talk about how they would manage this "marriage." Mama had said that he had agreed out of genuine remorse, but what if he changed his mind, and felt she had trapped him?

She took a breath. It would not do her any good to work herself into a state of panic. She grabbed ahold of the doorknob to Anthony's room, gave herself a good internal slap, and turned the handle.

She found Davis, Anthony's valet, packing up after giving his master a clean shave. Anthony certainly looked better for it, though it highlighted the bruises on his face.

"Hello," she said quietly. Anthony's eyes lit up for a moment, but then he frowned, remembering what he had ben told.

"Hello," he said in return, trying to maintain a neutral voice. He looked at Davis, giving him a look that spoke volumes. Edith had wished for such understanding between herself and Anthony, once upon a time.

Davis left the room without a word. Edith continued to stand, unsure of what to do next.

"Please sit down, Ed- Lady Edith," Anthony said, correcting himself. "It seems we have much to discuss."

Edith sat. She looked at him for a moment. "I'm not sure where to start." She was beside herself with anxiety and uncertainty. She had cared for this man so much. And he had rejected her in the cruelest way possible. What kind of future was possible for them now?

"I've asked Davis to go back to Locksleigh to retrieve my mother's ring. It's the one…." He paused, confused. "Is it the one I gave you? And then I left you?"

"No," she said softly, understanding. "You thought it might be…too old-fashioned. You were so worried about being "modern," trying to not emphasize our age."

Anthony sighed, overwhelmed. It didn't sound like him at all. He had always felt that Edith accepted him for who he was. It was one of things about their marriage that he treasured.

"It's probably best to wait until I've healed a bit more before going over our…history." He looked at her sadly.

"Two days. Papa said he could get an officiant here then. Will Davis be back by then?"

"Yes, he should return tomorrow."

The stilted conversation was too much for Edith. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this, no matter what happened before," she blurted out. She looked down at her hands. "It feels like I'm trapping you. But… I will do anything for Marigold." _Even live in a loveless marriage._

"Of course you would. You're a wonderful mother," he said firmly. Edith looked at him, amazed. She had never heard him speak with such conviction.

"And then Papa wants to open Grantham House for a proper reception. When you're up to it," she added quickly.

"Of course. We'll need to make this very public." He moved his right hand slightly, trying to reach out to her. And then winced. And then gulped, trying to control the pain that was now shooting up his arm.

"Nnn….!" He tried to control himself, but it was agony, as if all of the feeling he should have had over five years was returning to his arm all at once.

Edith screamed down the hall for the doctor, as Anthony passed out.


End file.
